Change and Compassion

The sun shines, this morning, through white air, and the temperature outside is already warmer than our not-cold, air conditioned house. A Maryland summer day: hazy, hot and humid.

Last night lightening flashed and played the sky, and thunder rumbled, but not right over us, and we had no rain. Perhaps by evening, or tomorrow, I will water the flowers a bit, for my impatiens love moisture. I planted more flowers this year then usual, for we have a new, glass door at the foot of our stairs, and I noticed that I wanted to see flowers in that view.

My impatiens this year range from white through many tints and shades of one family of purply red, so a whole range of pinks. They are growing well. I am thankful for all the green, and also thankful for the lighter, bright, shining flower faces.

I want to say the world is smiling. What I mean is the world is alive, the colors so vivid, the sounds so vibrant, the scents so rich and fecund.

I want to say those things because simultaneous to this joyous glory, I have recently spent some hours struggling with feelings of despair, and I want to say that, too.

A lover of music wishes to experience all the notes, the full range, in all variety of glory. Likewise, this lover of life wishes to recognize the life she is experiencing. And occasionally despair is one of the notes.

All sorts of philosophers assure me, in their writing, that despair has its roots in fear of death. Perhaps. Death is the ultimate change in the span of a life, the ultimate change that is beyond our control.

I'm observing in my experience, though, that I'm not so much afraid of being dead as I'm afraid of what the process of getting there might entail. I'm afraid of pain. Again and again I come face to face with the understanding that I'm afraid of pain, physical and emotional. Over and over I must notice when I've huddled and turned away from the mists of pain,then open myself to turn toward it full face, notice and pay attention. It is then that pain shows itself for the mist that it is, and one may walk right through.

I am also afraid of loss of control.

Despair as the clear recognition of loss of control.

I could have walked with Misty, and then scooped him up and brought him back inside, prevented his death on June 15. But I could not make him strong and frisky again, and I could not prevent his ultimate death. I mostly believe that allowing him the freedom to choose his day without my hovering presence-- he could always sense my hovering presence-- was the compassionate thing.

How does one weigh compassion?

Life is change. We do and do not control our lives.

Today I believe I will walk out into this alive world, being life, experiencing life, exchanging with all life, both being life and having a life. I will celebrate the full catastrophe. Celebrate the glory of change. Notice all I do not control. Then, with a deepened sense of compassion for myself and my full-scale range of experience, come back and take charge of what I do control.